


I'll Depend On You

by HardGarbage



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, they/them pronouns for Pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 01:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7781092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardGarbage/pseuds/HardGarbage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pidge has a dissociative episode–again–and Shiro’s there to coach them through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Depend On You

**Author's Note:**

> This is based entirely on my own experience of dissociation and a bit of a projection of how I wish my own dissociation could be treated. Also, the title comes from [this](https://soundcloud.com/louie-zong/sad-machine-remix) song which, though seemingly unrelated, lent a lot of tone to this story. Enjoy! (this fic was also posted on my [tumblr](http://hardgarbage.tumblr.com/post/148791782128/ill-depend-on-you))

They were practicing. Shiro had come up with the idea. In the event that the team got split up, god forbid, everyone should be comfortable working and fighting alone with each of their teammates individually. So, while Shiro and Allura watched the progress, and consulted on how to proceed with their attacks on the Galra, Pidge and Lance, Hunk and Keith, took shifts piloting their lions against the castle defense system. A single hangar door was left open, if both pilots could successfully navigate past the defenses and into the hangar–with minimal damage to the ship or the lions–they “won” the exercise.

“Ok, sure, but what do we  _ win?”  _ Lance whined.

Lance and Pidge were up first. Pidge would have prefered to go second, but Keith had wanted to go first and then Lance had to fight him about it and then Shiro had to solve the whole thing with a game of rock paper scissors and so here they were. In giant robot lions. In space. Pidge never really got the hang of that.

“Well, Lance, you win the knowledge that you’re really  _ there _ for your team.” Shiro’s voice was garbled over the intercoms.

“I’m already great at that. What else you got?”

“ _ Lance. _ ”

Pidge was tired and not at all prepared for this exercise. Combat was  _ not _ Pidge’s strong suit. They could do tech, they could do stealth, covert operations, infiltration–but  _ combat? _ No, not particularly. And paired up with  _ Lance _ . Besides Keith, Lance was one of the most impulsive of the group. When Pidge was forced to fight alongside Shiro or Hunk, they knew that Shiro or Hunk would look out for them. They would protect Pidge, make sure they were safe.

Fighting with Lance or Keith was about as good as fighting by yourself. Keith was really good at navigating stressful, combat situations, but he hadn’t fully gotten the hang of calculating the rest of his team into his “plans” (if they could be called that). Lance was just…. _ Lance _ . He was energetic, he had a lot of ideas at once and he wanted to try them all. If you could get him to calm down, to  _ take things seriously _ , he could really kick it into gear, but getting Lance to take things seriously was practically impossible. And Pidge guessed that this being an  _ exercise _ and not a  _ real actual life or death battle _ was not going to do them any favors.

“Can we  _ please _ just  _ do _ this already? I’ve got more Galra tech to reverse engineer and a nap I need to take so lets just…get this over with.”

Lance’s face popped up on the edge of their screen, dramatically disappointed. “ _ Fine _ ! But somebody owes me some kind of prize when we whoop this castle’s  _ ass _ ! Right, Pidge!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

So the exercise began.

—

It went surprisingly well. As though determined to show that he was actually good at something, Lance took the exercise very seriously. He even communicated on the comms properly, with all the “over”’s and “copy”’s in the right place. He stayed close to Pidge, helped formulate a clear plan of attack, and then executed it (almost) seamlessly–Pidge’s smooth landing turned into a lazy tailspin there at the end because Lance went ahead of them instead of behind, but otherwise a rousing success.

The entered the small lounge in high spirits. Lance was thumping Pidge on the back, “You’re just so  _ sneaky _ !”

“I’m not  _ sneaky _ , I’m just well informed.” Pidge countered, smiling devilishly.

“Well whatever it is that gets you to zip around all those lazers like that, can you let me in on it? I mean, you saw how many blasts I took before we made a plan? I may be the most graceful pilot we’ve got, but that was…not great.” Lance grimaced exaggeratedly.

Pidge smiled up at him. It was unlike Lance to be so self-effacing. But they recognized this particular brand of encouragement. It was brotherly. Lance knew (because he always knew these things somehow?) that Pidge was nervous about combat, about their skills, and he was telling them, in a way they could accept, that they were doing ok. That their skills were up to par. That they didn’t have to be afraid.

“Sure, sure,” Pidge scoffed, “the next time we train I’ll show you how not to be an idiot.”

“Hey! That’s uncalled for!” Lance pushed them a little, then placed both hands on their head and ruffled their hair into an ungodly mess.

“Lance! Quit it!” They were angry, but also laughing. Lance was good like this. Outside of battle he was…normal. It felt good to have something normal in all the rest of this ridiculousness.

Pidge shoved him off and then jumped up to ruffle Lance’s hair, but they were just a little too short. As Pidge jumped and struggled, Lance just laughed.

“Ok ok alright, truce. How about a high-five instead?” Lance smiled down at them. “Well…actually…you can’t really reach all the way up here–”

Pidge punched him in the gut.

Lance grunted, and then in a squeeky voice said, “ _ Point taken _ . But still–” he held his hand out, palm up, “Down-low?”

Before they could think Pidge swung their hand hard and fast toward Lance’s palm, determined to smack him as hard as they could. But Lance was faster–

His hand swung back to rest on his hip, he formulated a shit-eating grin on his face, and said proudly, “Too slow.”

And things sort of…shattered. Or exploded, or popped like the thin line separating air from water bursts.

It was happening again.

Somewhere, Lance was laughing. Somewhere, Hunk had entered the room. Somewhere, Pidge remembered a tired joke her brother still made, or had. When he was here. Here? Where was here, anyway? Pidge looked up.

It was white. White with windows into space. Far away, beyond their arms–arms? And hands? They clenched and unclenched their fists, trying to remember what control felt like–far away, outside the sheet of glass which now separated them from everything, anything, else, Hunk and Lance were chatting. Lance might have been talking to them. Their mouth moved and words came out.  _ What am I saying? _ Something like, “In your dreams, Lance.” or “Whatever you say, man.” Lance was frowning.

They hadn’t moved. Could they move? Their leg bore forward and then stopped. They could move. Somehow. Then Lance was there. Saying something. They tried to concentrate beyond the glass.

“–dge? Pidge? Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah.” Pidge tried to pull on a smile. Was this it? Is this what a smile felt like? They could feel their face moving, their legs shaking. Legs? Pidge looked down at their awkward stance. One foot moved to the other, somehow, just like they were supposed to. Pidge looked up again. It took them a while to find Lance’s eyes. Or did it? How long had they been standing here?

“I’m fine.” Was that normal? Was that the thing to say? An image of Matt smiling in the sun shrieked over Pidge’s thoughts and they flinched. Somewhere under the displacement, they were screaming. Something was screaming.

“–ou dissociating? Pidge?” Lance again, hand on their shoulder, close and worried.

“What? Yes.” What had they said? Was that the thing to say? Something was screaming and they kept remembering their hands, fiddling with a loose thread of their shirt.  _ I have hands and I’m doing that. I’m doing that?  _ Something was screaming.

“–even listening?…Can you even hear me?” Lance looked sad, and scared. Hunk was there too, saying something to Lance, looking concerned.

“I-I’m fine.” They heard their own voice. Watery and far away. It was scared and small and not fine. They wanted it to be fine. They wanted to sit down and be ok, be normal, not worry anyone, not worry–

“I’m gonna get Shiro.”

“I’m-I’m fine!” They sounded desperate. Hysterical. Their body tugged forward. They had reached out to grab Lance’s shirt as he went to leave. Lance looked back at them, sad and calm.

He gathered their hand up into his two then turned and lowered himself to look into Pidge’s eyes. “Pidge? You’re not fine–”

“ _ Lance! _ ” Hunk had slapped him. Somewhere, Pidge laughed. Lance smiled, just a little.

“I mean…you’re  _ going _ to be fine, but you’re not right now. Right?”

He looked sympathetic. Pidge could feel their mouth open, their hands shaking. Thought about speaking but it didn’t seem to…connect. They couldn’t place the words properly on their mouth. They opened their mouth again, then simply nodded.

“Ok. So we know Shiro can normally help you with this kind of thing, right?”

“Right.” An automatic, automated response. As soon as they’d spoken, they weren’t sure whether they’d said anything or not. But Lance nodded.

“And anyway, you know Shiro’s going to be mad if we don’t tell him, and then he finds out about it later, right?”

“Right.” Again. What were they agreeing to? Where was Shiro? Something was screaming.

“Ok. So I’m going to go get him. Hunk will stay here with you, ok? I’ll–”

“Ok.” Was that the thing to say?

“–yeah…I’ll be back in a sec.”

Then Lance was gone. Pidge looked up.

It was white. It was white with windows into space. And there was Hunk, between them and the window. There was the glass and then Hunk and then open air and then a window and glass and then space. There were their hands. There was  _ Hunk’s _ hand, rubbing circles against their back. Normally, it helped. They remembered, before, Hunk had done this for them. It had been comforting. Now, it made them nauseous. Their mouth was moving.

“–ould you stop?”

Hunk jolted and lowered his hand.

“Sorry.” Their voice sounded bland. They  _ were _ sorry. Weren’t they? But they didn’t, they couldn’t–

“It’s fine. No worries, I should have asked. Is there anything I can do? Do you want to sit down? Need something to drink?”

“Um.” Their hands flexed in front of them.  _ That’s my hand and I’m doing that. _ It seemed kind of true. Something was screaming…

“–idge?” Hunk. So concerned.

“Uh, no. There’s nothing. I’ll just…wait.”

What were they waiting for? Something was screaming. Shiro. They were waiting for Shiro. How long had it been since Lance left? How long had they been standing there, in the middle of the room like this? Beyond the glass, nothing moved, everything was white and dead. Something was screaming louder.

The door shuddered open behind them. Pidge leapt, and some sound flew out of them, and then Shiro was there, flanked by Lance, looking stern. Pidge opened their mouth and some other sound came out. Their eyes hurt.

“–tie. Katie. There you are. Can you hear me ok?” He looked calm. He looked normal. It felt good to have something normal.

“Yes.” Something was screaming. They almost said it aloud.

“Ok. So. How do you want to handle this? I’ve got a few ideas if you’d like to hear them.”

“Yes.”  _ That’s my voice and I’m saying that _ . Their hand was doing something at their side.

“Alright. Well. We could go for a walk around the castle. We can go to your room, get ready for bed–” What time was it? How long– “It’s about 9pm CST, Katie” –Had they said it out loud?– “So a little early for bed, but it’s been a long day. Or we could go to your work station, try for something a little more distracting. What do you think?”

Shiro was looking at them, expectant and nonchalant. They could feel Lance and Hunk nearby, muttering maybe, nervous. But there was Shiro. Calm. Smiling. Normal.

“I…maybe a walk. First. I feel…kind of stuck.” They were saying it, somewhere beyond the glass, but it felt true, wherever it was coming from.

Shiro smiled brighter. “Alright.” His head turned over his shoulder, “Lance, Hunk, let the others know what we’re up to, ok?” Some sounds of assent. “Ok, let’s go.”

Shiro stepped forward, and Katie was surprised to find that their legs moved in time with him, although jerkingly. Then they were down the hall, one of many, leading somewhere, somewhere. The castle was so large. Katie had gotten lost more than once. Every hallway looked the same. They could be headed to the lion hangars or the kitchen, Katie’s room or the training deck. The castle grew like an inflating lung, pushing open and outward, where were they? How did they get here? Where were they going? Something was screaming?

“–atie, breathe.” They weren’t walking. The floor was swirling beneath them. Their hands, everything–something was screaming–everything was shaking, their eyes were shaking and Matt was  _ screaming _ –

“Katie. You’ve got to breathe, ok? Katie? Can you take a deep breath for me?”

They couldn’t see him, where? Where was? The screaming? Hands clapped down on their shoulders and breath shocked into them, then everything narrowed to that single action. Breathing. Breathing. Then even that was too much, too aware, breathe in, out, in, out breathe, in–

“–t’s ok. Katie, it’s ok. Look at me. Katie. Look at me.”

They looked up. There he was. Shiro. Like always. Like normal. He looked…determined. Sure. Confident and calm. Something was screaming quieter.

“Breathe with me, ok? Ready?” Gingerly, he took their hand and placed it on his chest. Their hand. Still theirs. “Ok. Breathe in–” Shiro’s chest expanded under their fingers. Their chest moved too, somewhere, “–breathe out–” Shiro’s chest deflated, and when theirs did the same, they felt it shudder out, unsteady. “Breathe in–” they followed him again, “–breathe out–”

And again. And again. Until Shiro stopped talking. Until they stood there together, breathing, Katie’s hand on Shiro’s chest, Shiro with one hand over theirs, the other stuck fast to their shoulder.

Finally, when the castle itself deflated, when the screaming felt farther away, when Pidge could recognize their hand on Shiro’s chest for every beat of his heart, even if they still couldn’t understand how it moved without them, Pidge said, “I-I’m ok.”

Shiro sighed, relieved, but didn’t move. He stayed hunched over, at Pidge’s eye-level, hands just where he’d left them. He was still breathing deeply, and Pidge was still copying him.

“Alright. Good.” Shiro said. Pidge could feel the edge of fear in Shiro’s voice, and thanked him for the calm he was keeping. They knew…they knew what it was like to worry like this. They didn’t want–they hadn’t meant–

“–o you want to go to your room now? Sit down? You look like you–” Shiro looked sheepish, “–well you look like you might want to sit down.”

Pidge could feel their whole body shaking. They only nodded.

“Ok. Do you want to leave now, or do you need a minute?”

“I’m–”  _ that’s my voice _ , “–let’s go now.”

Shiro nodded, lowered his hands, and motioned for Pidge to lead. Pidge held their hand aloft and Shiro, without a word, took their hand in his and started forward.

—

The temperature in Pidge’s room had been turned way down, and Pidge and Shiro were swaddled in individual piles of blankets, like two giant caterpillars, on Pidge’s bed. They’d just finished a makeshift meal–entirely Shiro’s idea–of the crackers and pouches of water Pidge kept in their room for just such an occasion. Normally, Pidge thought, Shiro would deplore such an unhealthy dinner after such a stressful day, but, as he had said while they were eating, “It’s better than nothing.”

Pidge was still dissociating, but it was…quieter. Dissociation was…hard. But what was harder was the panic, and once that went away…well they were mostly just tired. Even now, finally safe and satiated, Pidge could feel sleep starting to come for them.

“Pidge?” Shiro was looking at them, concerned.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about it? What triggered it?”

“Oh.”

Pidge wasn’t entirely sure they did. But the answer was simple enough, and without their complete consent, they found themselves saying, “Well. It was really…really stupid, to be honest. Lance was…being Lance, and…you know the ‘down-low–too slow’ thing? Matt used to…”

They could see Shiro flinch. He had to have known it would be able Matt, the last time this happened…

“Yeah.” They finished without really explaining. There wasn’t a particular need to. The two of them shared the silence.

Then Pidge said, “It’s just…it’s so  _ stupid  _ that it’s  _ like _ this. It’s always something  _ tiny.  _ I can see a dozen Galra prisoners with no problem, but somebody tells my brother’s joke, or talks about moms and I–and I’m–”

And finally, they were crying. It was loud and anguished and angry. Shiro unraveled himself and held his arms out to Pidge, as though asking. Pidge could only fall into them and scream as Shiro gathered them up against his chest, rocking back and forth. Pidge screamed into Shiro’s shoulder, his neck, finally recognizing the something that was screaming. And they shook, trembled, and gagged because they couldn’t breathe, and Shiro cooing, “Breathe, Katie. Breathe.” And crying and crying and breathing.

When it was over, Pidge hung limply in Shiro’s arms, exhausted. Everything. Exhausted.

Shiro was humming some improvised lullaby, his tone deep and rumbling, and somehow the song was lazy and soft enough that Shiro could still remind them to breathe, simply by breathing himself.

As he was smoothing hair away from her face, Shiro asked, “Do you feel any better?”

Pidge looked up at him and sighed. “I…I guess.”

They didn’t really. Not  _ better _ . They felt different. Some other kind of sadness that wasn’t panic or overt grief. A sadness that was just..tired.

“That’s ok.” He gathered them a little closer to him. “It’s getting pretty late. Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

“Shiro–” they were saying, “–you don’t have to do that. You’ve done so much already, I can’t–”

“Pidge.” Shiro was looking down at them calmly, “Honestly, I’m completely fine with it. It’s not a problem. Sleeping here is no more difficult than it is sleeping in my own room.” Pidge looked down and away, but Shiro’s face followed them, “Really. If you want me to stay, I will.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all they could think to say.

“What?”

“I’m sorry that…that I’m like this. That I can’t–that I can’t be……I’m just sorry.” Tears pricked harsh against their already dry eyes.

“Pidge…” Shiro’s voice was stern. He pulled them closer to him. That’s not what he had wanted them to say, they knew. But. It was true. There was nothing they could do about the dissociation, nothing stopped it, there was no real way to tell when it would happen. But still, Pidge felt responsible, and embarrassed. Nobody else was having panic attacks after training exercises. Nobody else went nearly catatonic when Keith mentioned he was an orphan and Pidge realized that they might be too…for all they know. Nobody else needed “Pidge-Protocol”, a planned reaction when someone notices–or Pidge admits–that they’re dissociating (though the plan was pretty simple: Stay Calm. Find Shiro.). But Pidge did. Pidge needed all of that and more. And as thankful as they were that the team was there to help them…it was hard. They felt  _ weak _ . And sad and angry and embarrassed. Why couldn’t they just be  _ normal _ ? Why did they have to be…like  _ this? _

Shiro was looking down at them. How long? Had he been waiting for them? He looked…serious, and sad. Pidge’s hands fiddled in the fabric of his shirt. _ These are my hands _ .

“Shiro?”

“Pidge,” he sighed and his grip tightened. He looked resolute. “Pidge, when I…when I have flashbacks–”

“–Shiro–”

“–when you, and the rest of the team, help me…help me  _ through _ them, is that something you would want me to feel guilty about?”

“–No, of course not, but–”

“I know it sucks. It’s not good and it’s not fun and it sucks. But it’s not your  _ fault _ . It’s not something you can control. And that’s  _ ok _ . We can work through it, just like we did today, just like we did last time, just like you’ve done for me. And I  _ want _ to do this, ok? I  _ want _ to help you. If there’s anything I can do to make you feel better, that’s what I want to do.” He looked down at them, smiling sadly. “I mean, that’s how you would feel, right?”

Pidge could only stare up at him, and nod. Of course. Of course that’s what they would want. That’s what all of them wanted, in the end, right? To help? To be helped? To make it through?

So as they closed their eyes to Shiro resuming his rumbling hum Pidge sighed, “Thank you,” and let go.


End file.
